Wednesday night, warmer NJ

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons user USDA Historical Photos

As I’m sitting in my living room watching a years old Sex and the City rerun, I’m remembering the idealization of being a young woman in the city, varied working hours, enjoying my twenties. I am now 27, closer to 28 than I am to 26, and closer to 30 than I am to 25. Watching a rerun of a show I used to watch when I was in college makes me remember how I was always eager to get older, like many young women. Now I think I’m at a point where rather than rush age, I concentrate on where I’m actually going.
Another realization: I’m so over it. I’m over many of the things that have characterized my young adulthood and left me feeling like I have to explain my life away. Your twenties are a tumultuous time, filled with questions and mistakes about a adulthood, fighting to make people see you as an adult, and getting used to the fact that you have to take care of yourself. I’m tired of explaining that I’m 27 rather than 17, and that if I don’t turn to someone for help on any and every whim, it’s not that I don’t care for you, it’s that I’m learning how to live my life on my own. I’m an intense homebody, preferring quiet company rather than a loud bar, my own mind other than a bar tab. I’m no partier or anything (not that there’s anything wrong with having fun, of course) and I do spend a lot of time alone. I am a writer, and it’s part of my job. I excel at it when I get the chance to look at things in retrospect. Building a successful writing career means I have to discipline myself into a sometimes very solitary life. Frankly, I also write a hell of a lot better than I argue and converse. This is what I do. So if I don’t talk to you for a while, it’s not that I don’t care; I’m just preoccupied. You shouldn’t take it personal.
Turning 27 has been especially integral. For me, the age always signaled official adulthood. I don’t know why, but the age of 27 always meant being a grown up to me. It’s also the year where I am finally going after the career I’ve always wanted. There is no putting anything off anymore. It’s about beginning your life, and working towards your future. There is no settling for everyone else’s standards, simply doing things because they worked for others. Now, it’s doing what can and has worked for me. What the hell, right? Working an office job for someone else’s company certainly won’t make me rich anytime soon. And I couldn’t be happier. Not just taking a job for the sake of having a job feels so much better than settling. Now, I make my own hours. If I want to wake up at 5 am and work, I can. If I’d rather work late into the night, I can do that to. No boss giving me a hard time, no one else’s deadline than my own. There’s a great sense of pride in making yourself do what you have to do. You need that discipline to provide for yourself.  And I’d like to think that I’m doing a great job.

I’m also learning how to work out my home working life with my at home domestic life. I don’t have a home office; I have a computer on top of a coffee table in my living room on which I work, a printer resting underneath it. I will get a desk, I swear! I just haven’t yet. It’s not my favorite arrangement, but it’ll have to do for now. Damn you, responsible spending! I’ve put off buying the desk I want because I want to have the necessary savings set aside first. Yes, I truly am an adult now, when I can prioritize just about everything.  One future imminent project: shampooing my carpet. I have pets. It’s about time I learn how to do that anyway.  I also have to decide a business name for my writing business, and file the necessary paperwork to make that official. Oh dear: business-lady me. There’s an idea I feel so removed from, yet know it’s right in front of me.  After that, it’s all on: writing as a writer, and doing business as a businesswoman. As much as I am ready for it, it still feels pretty surreal.

Disclaimer: Blogs are written for the most part to be self-centered diatribes written by people who actually think people care what they have to say. I totally know this. I also know I need to write all the time, and sometimes writing something particularly self-centered gets me started on my other work.  Being that this blog is free, who cares if you read it or not? I still get to do what I want to do, and no one either benefits or gets hurt by my bs. So for those that make fun of people that blog about themselves, I say “yeah, uh huh. You’re just as self-centered as I am, just too lazy to take the time to write about yourself. And if you’re taking the time to read this, you like blogs anyway”. Just felt the need to say that. Blogging about trains of thought can seem so pointless, but it can be oh so fun. Talk about the new diary.

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